Poetic Justice
by solveariddle
Summary: Aaron Hotchner is a man of principles. Due to the manipulative influence of a secret agency, though, he discovers some disturbing new revelations about Ian Doyle and Emily Prentiss that make him question his oath.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I know it's just another story about the *Lauren* aftermath, but somehow I felt the need to give Hotch a chance for payback. He is usually not the kind of man who is out for revenge, but when so far unknown and precarious details about Prentiss' undercover assignment are revealed that emphasize all the more Doyle's vicious character, Hotch decides to betray his principles for once. Rather subtle hints at H/P, although it is an important part of the story (and the trigger for Hotch's actions). The story takes place on different timelines. The idea was to create even more tension, so I hope it isn't confusing. Reviews make my day and are very appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

Aaron Hotchner hears someone approach his office at a run. He doesn't recognize the footsteps and when Penelope Garcia's reddened and slightly sweaty face appears in the door frame, the reason is obvious – he never saw or heard the technical analyst run before.

"I've traced him," she gasps breathlessly. "Doyle. I know where he is."

Hotch's speechlessness lasts only a few seconds, a variety of emotions flooding through him – relief, disbelief, determination, but most of all... pure hatred.

"Close the door," he instructs her quietly and with a fake composure, because what he actually wants to to is grab his gun and bolt out of the office. The impatience to eventually act after all these months of waiting is almost physically painful.

However he has to make sure first that Garcia doesn't spread the news. The rest of the team is not supposed to know.

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><p><strong>Two weeks ago...<strong>

These kind of men have no names, but they wear the same uniforms – dark suits to hide their well-toned bodies, sunglasses to hide their wary eyes, always scanning their surroundings, and sometimes – albeit not of all of them – military short haircuts.

It was noontime and people streamed out of the office buildings on this sunny day to have a break from their tight working schedule.

They blended in the crowd. Two men with dark suits, just like the others. That's what they were trained to do – blend in, get the job done and disappear as fast and inconspicuously as possible. The men were CIA or Interpol or some other secret agency, who knew.

"They are too close to catching Doyle," one of them said and for the lack of a name let's just call him Mr. X.

_They_ referred to the BAU team supervised by unit chief Aaron Hotchner. There was no official assignment. A fact that didn't hinder them, though, from doing whatever they could within their limited possibilities – making the most of old contacts, using Garcia's legendary research skills. Whatever it took and whatever was feasible.

"Who cares? Let them do our job," responded the other man and since he also has no name – or rather too many – let's call him Mr. Y.

"We need Doyle dead," Mr. X insisted. "In prison he received information from one of his inmates he could use to make a deal in case he gets arrested. A deal that would endanger current undercover assignments. We can't risk that. Doyle is not as powerful as he was before his seven year vacation behind bars. He is of no value to us anymore. His organization is split up, Valhalla merely a memento. The man has gone haywire because of this former undercover agent who sold him out."

The men remained silent for a brief moment. They knew that the _former undercover agent_ had been part of the BAU team that now searched frantically for Doyle. They also knew that she had been forced to go into hiding until this all was over and make her team believe she had been killed by her nemesis. Something that for sure enhanced their stimulus to find Doyle. Only the unit chief and the media liaison knew that Emily Prentiss was alive. The men didn't feel pity – provided they were able to feel anything – but in their black and white world the BAU was part of the good guys and they didn't intend to purposely inflict harm on any of them. At least as long as it could be avoided. If it couldn't be avoided, they wouldn't hesitate to do whatever was necessary. As it was now.

"Well, then we need to find a way to make them not only arrest but kill him," Mr. Y said pensively. "Let's give them the recording. Or at least... parts of it. Could be convincing enough to make even a man like Aaron Hotchner forget about his oath."

Mr. X nodded affirmatively and with this they parted ways and immediately couldn't be distinguished any longer among the crowd.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

It was late and the rest of the team had just left. As usual it was only Aaron Hotchner and the paperwork. He hadn't had time to open all the letters personally addressed to him and when he reached for the stack, he noticed one slightly thicker envelope. He opened it first. There was a CD inside. Could be anything. Threats from a serial killer he had helped to put behind bars, a virus programmed to destroy the FBI database or a harmless message from one of the weird groupies they all had. There was a laptop in his office to check this kind of anonymous delivery out. A laptop that wasn't connected to any of their servers or their network so that no harm could come from putting the CD inside and hitting play as he did now.

For a moment there was only silence, no video that started to play, and he wondered whether some freak had sent him a recording with nothing but static. Practically nothing was impossible. Then voices filled the room. There was a negotiation going on about weapons and what price to pay and when the goods could be delivered. Hotch tensed up, listening closely. Just when he reached for the phone to check whether Garcia was still there to let the technical analyst examine the CD, a familiar voice filled the room. It was her, somewhere in the background, but he recognized her voice in an instant. His former team member, the officially dead and unofficially gone into hiding Emily Prentiss.

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><p>To be continued<p>

**So what do you think? Interesting? I hope so... **

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks a lot for the story alerts and for favoring this story. But most of all, of course, thanks to those of you who took the time and left a review: **charleantheresas, sarwebber22, HGRHfan35, HouseBroken, HPforever-after,** **Mydnyte Houre**. I hope you stick with the story and come back to read and review again. And those of you who haven't reviewed yet – give it a try! :)

**Disclaimer: **I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed. In this chapter I also borrowed parts of scenes from 6x18 that, of course, don't belong to me either but to CBS.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

His team doesn't need to know. Their hunt for Doyle started out as a team challenge. They were in this together. But they aren't anymore. Not since his plans – what to do with Ian Doyle once they traced him – have changed.

So that's what Aaron Hotchner orders Penelope Garcia to do behind closed doors – inform him about Doyle's whereabouts, tell no-one else, get out of the office and remain silent. He knows she won't last long. Sooner or later she will tell someone, most likely Morgan. It doesn't matter though. He just needs a head start. A split of a second alone with Doyle.

Hotch is about to break his oath and kill Ian Doyle in cold blood.

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><p><strong>One ½ weeks ago...<strong>

It was only a phone call this time. But if phone calls could wear dark suits and sunglasses to remain undiscovered, this one definitely had the complete accouterment. No names, no greetings, overall duration within the limits so that the call could not be traced – just in case someone should manage to eavesdrop despite all the precautions and the secure line.

"It has been done," Mr. X's voice. "How can we assure that he won't call her, won't ask her what really happened?"

"They don't know how to reach her," Mr. Y responded. "And they are well aware that it would be too risky to trace her whereabouts as long as Doyle is alive."

"The blonde met with her in Paris," Mr. X argued.

"This meeting had been approved previously," Mr. Y stated slightly annoyed.

As if the world dared to turn without his permission. As if one of the puppets dared to escape, when he was the one pulling the strings.

All they had to do now was wait.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

It was odd.

First the photos, now this.

_Hotch remembered how all the members of the BAU had stared petrified at the pictures. A woman dressed in white, the bright clothes a sharp contrast to her dark hair and eyes. The photos had been taken on the stately home of an internationally wanted terrorist, but the woman looked comfortable, at ease with the situation. In one of the pictures she held a flower in her hands and smelled at it._

_There had been no doubt that the woman in these photographs was their colleague and friend, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. Except that she had had another name back then and obviously a whole other life as an undercover agent despite the fact that she hated politics. Well, who would've thought that._

The voices brought him back to the here and now. This had to be a recording from her past as a weapon dealer, as Lauren Reynolds, her undercover assignment to bring Ian Doyle down. There was no urgency to do anything to prevent the weapon deal. It had happened long ago. Yet there was no reason to relax. It was even more unsettling why somebody had sent him the recording just now.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

Hotch only makes one phone call before he leaves the office.

Well, three to be exact, but he neither counts the one in which he makes sure that Jack is taken care of as long as he will be out of town nor the one in which he books his flight.

The only phone call that matters is the one to the person who wants to see Ian Doyle dead just as much as he does.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

As the recording proceeded there were more negotiations and then Hotch heard Prentiss laughing, still somewhere in the background, but it was her without a doubt. Hearing her laugh made it somehow worse, because it didn't fit the situation and showed how – at least seemingly – she had managed to adapt to the surroundings.

A male voice talked to her and told her to get in the car. Doors opened and closed and suddenly their voices were as clear as if they were here in the room with him. The microphone must have been hidden in the car. Probably a clever move. Should it be detected, it couldn't be necessarily backtracked to her. Well, obviously it hadn't been detected. Otherwise the recording wouldn't exist.

"Are you going to take care of me?" Her voice and it was hard to tell whether she was scared or flirting, maybe both, maybe she didn't know herself at the time.

The answer to her question was a short deep laughter from the man who was in the car with her and Hotch believed and feared at the same time that it was him, Ian Doyle. Yet there was no confirmation.

The man didn't answer. Then there was some rustling, followed by heavy breathing. Even if Hotch was alone in his office the silence felt uncomfortable when he realized that he was listening to Emily Prentiss making out.

He really didn't want to listen to this, but there could be a hint upcoming where to find Doyle or at least what made him tick. _If_ it was Doyle.

The rustling stopped, although the panting didn't. Voices filled the room again.

"Come with me to my residence. I want to show you where I live. You can stay with me there." The man's voice. Apparently they were ready to go, but the motor of the car hadn't started. He let his men wait for her decision whether she wanted to come with him or not.

"Ian...," Prentiss' voice gave Hotch the confirmation he had been waiting for. He felt no relief though.

He was listening to Emily Prentiss talking to her nemesis, to the men who had tried to kill her and almost succeeded.

* * *

><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

It's hot, but Aaron Hotchner doesn't mind. There is no inappropriate weather for what he is about to do.

If anything, it's almost too damn easy. They find Doyle without too much effort.

He sits in a diner in the middle of nowhere. All they have to do is wait for him to leave so there will be no witnesses. The desert keeps it's secrets.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

_Ian... _The seconds were ticking away as Hotch listened how Prentiss obviously hesitated to answer Ian Doyle.

Of course, she had no answer. Agreeing would have led inevitably to a consequence that apparently hadn't happened at this time of her undercover mission. She hadn't slept with him and being alone with him in his house would make it difficult if not impossible for her to defer it any longer. Ian Doyle didn't sound like a man who waited too long for what he wanted. Disagreeing unfortunately was no option either – basically for the same reasons.

"Come with me, Lauren," Doyle repeated, his voice rough with lust, and Hotch winced. Somehow it helped that he called her Lauren. In a way he was able to tell himself that this was not the woman he knew, that it all happened to someone else.

The rustling started again, longer this time, more panting. Hotch had somehow avoided it until this point – congratulating himself inwardly on his bravery – but now the imagines rushed in even faster. He was not able to hold them back.

Would Doyle have pushed her back or given her a tender squeeze? Most likely he pushed her back, because he was a man of power who liked to overwhelm other people. Hotch imagined Doyle's body on top of her and felt his stomach tighten. Doyle wouldn't have been satisfied with only kissing, now that he had her that close. It was hard not to imagine how his hands ripped open her blouse or whatever she was wearing to touch bare skin or even taste it.

Suddenly there was a moan, definitely a woman's voice. It had to be her, although he couldn't tell for sure. How should he? He never had heard her in such a situation before. But since there was no-one else in the car, it had to be her. It sounded as if she was... really enjoying this. Then again she perhaps only was a good actress.

Hotch never had crossed the line with one of his female team members or other female colleagues. He sometimes had wanted to, had let chances pass by after word had gotten round about his divorce. He is a handsome man and some women certainly would like to add him to their collection. Most of the time it was easy for him to refuse the offer. Then again he never had gotten an offer from the one woman he wouldn't have been able to reject. Emily Prentiss.

So now, sitting here and listening to the recording, it felt like mockery. She hadn't even considered him important enough to tell him about her problems, about the current threat Doyle was to this day. Let alone recognized him as a man.

There had been a time – after Foyet's attack – when they had been close, but somehow everyday life and countless cases had affected their special bond. Perhaps it still was there. He couldn't ask her though. Not as long as Doyle was alive. Not as long as there was the risk that Doyle would try to kill her again, if he knew that she survived his assault.

And here he was envious of Ian Doyle about being close to a woman he, Aaron Hotchner, obviously never knew. A woman who might or might not be interested in him as well as he always had been interested in her and just never had shown it. Because it hadn't mattered, until he had to listen to her being with someone else.

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><p>To be continued<p>

**Any ideas who Hotch called?**

**Click the button and leave a review – you know you want to. :)**

**Anonymous reviews allowed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **

First of all and as usual a heartfelt thank you for the (many) story alerts, for favoring this story and most of all, of course, for reviewing the second chapter: **Mydnyte Houre, charleantheresas, romiross, HGRHfan35, angry penguin, radioactive460, greengirl82. **My life is upside down right now and I hope you forgive me for not responding to each review individually. Be assured that I appreciate your support all the more! As I said before – I hope you stick with the story and come back to read and review again. :)

Some of you had interesting ideas who Hotch called. It will be more or less revealed in this chapter (and perhaps doesn't come as such a big surprise), albeit I still don't give away the name. Those of you who already watched 6x17/18 (and I guess this is the majority) will recognize the reference in an instant.

Rating due to the mention of a possible sexual abuse of a major character in this chapter, although the emphasis is put on _possible_ here and there is no explicit description. It's important for the storyline and to explain Hotch's motivations. There will be more explanations in the next chapter. I can't say more without giving spoilers away. Since this is a sensitive subject, though, I don't want to offend anybody.

**Disclaimer: **I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed. In this chapter I also borrowed parts of scenes from 6x18 that, of course, don't belong to me either but to CBS.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

The sun is relentless. A searing hot circle in the middle of a cloudless sky, burning their skin.

Hotch thinks about the recording, about the strange arousal mixed with jealousy he felt listening to it, until the arousal turned into something else at one point.

His hand twitches, urges to eventually draw the gun and pull the trigger. He never would have thought that bloodlust is a word associated with him. But right now he almost tastes the blood on his tongue. Ian Doyle's blood.

He doesn't call it revenge, although he knows that basically that's all it is. An eye for an eye or rather – Doyle's life for what he did to Prentiss.

It sounds much better to call it poetic justice.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

Hotch stopped the recording. It was dark outside and rain was pouring down. Time to go home was long overdue, but he wasn't able to leave his office. Not until he had heard everything – as painful as it was. No, not painful, annoying, infuriating.

_Don't do this,_ he thought futilely. He was already in the thick of things.

_Perhaps she is drawn to the dangerous type. _The concern suddenly was there; Hotch couldn't stop himself. _Perhaps she gets off on dangerous situations, needs the thrill. _He knew that it was immature and childish to try and turn her into someone she most likely never had been to satisfy his inner need to punish her. She had only done her job; undercover assignments sometimes come with very special job descriptions. She had adapted to the circumstances and not lived out some secret fantasies.

He took a deep breath and hit play again.

It was no video, just an audio recording, but he wasn't able to stifle the imagination when more moans from Prentiss and Doyle filled the room.

"Ian." Her voice. Strained. "We can't..."

Hotch was aware that it was only a recording, that he was listening to the past. Nonetheless he felt the urge to pull Doyle out of the car and away from her. The fact that he was doomed to be a passive listener made him sick and furious.

"You taste so good!" Doyle's voice. The need in it no longer suppressed. "I want to feel all of you."

"Ian, don't...," she almost sounded a little afraid now, albeit on the edge of anger at the same time. Apparently she wanted to stop him without enraging him. Judging from what Hotch could hear, though, it didn't work. Ian Doyle isn't a man who stops, because someone tells him to.

The rustling turned into a tussle. Doyle was still panting, but her hisses had a more desperate quality. As if she physically tried to hold him back and didn't succeed. How could she? Ian Doyle was extremely physically fit, more than just in good shape. Even if Prentiss was a fighter, against him she wouldn't have stood a chance. And she was alone with him, with no-one around who could have helped her.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

"What changed your mind?" he finally asks Hotch, now that they are about to kill Doyle. "You told me back then that you aren't able to break your oath. What happened that you're so willing and eager to do it now?"

Hotch has no intention to tell him. No-one knows about the recording and no-one will. He listened to it once and then destroyed it.

His rage about Prentiss' seeming betrayal is long gone. He understands it all these days. Why she couldn't tell him or the team; why she went after Doyle without their help. Knowing something and _being there_, right in the situation, even if it only was a recording, are two entirely different things. He _felt_ Doyle's malice when he listened to the recording. He _saw_ in his mind's eye what Doyle did to her and will never forget it. So he _knows_ that Prentiss had no choice. She wanted to save them, spare them the confrontation with this vicious man. She had no choice back then – just as he has no choice now.

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><p><strong>One week ago...<strong>

_"How close did she get to him?" It had been Hotch who had spoken first, after they had studied incredulously the photos. A rhetorical question. The pictures had given it all away. _

_"She was his type," JJ had stated with her best matter-of-fact voice. It was a case like any other, she had told herself, even if it was anything but._

Hotch had closed his eyes, as if he could block out the images in this way.

The fight between Doyle and Prentiss still was going on and more than once he had considered stopping to listen to the recording, but he didn't out of a sense of duty. There could be a hint about Doyle's whereabouts and he couldn't risk letting this chance pass by. He could let someone else listen to it. Then again he wanted to spare Prentiss the humiliation. At least that's what he told himself.

His eyes snapped open when he heard Ian's voice, impatient and rough with lust, "Come on, Lauren. Don't make such a fuss!"

The next sound was too muffled. It could have been a desperate laughter, a suppressed scream, anything. Still the fight wouldn't stop, clearing up Hotch's last doubts that Doyle was forcing himself on Prentiss against her will. He had to listen helplessly while his agony turned more and more into rage. The final words of the recording were crystal clear. Her voice. "No! Stop!" Then a hiss, bodies colliding and... nothing, just static.

No-one, well except perhaps Morgan, had said it out loud, but they all had been so quick to judge about her that they never had thought it to be even remotely possible that her undercover relationship hadn't exactly started by her own choice. When Hotch ejected the CD his hands shivered.

And in this moment he decided that Ian Doyle had no right to live. Just like Foyet he had forfeited this right.

His hands stopped to shiver; his breath slowed down again.

Aaron Hotchner knew what he had to do.

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><p>To be continued<p>

**So what do you think about bad-ass Hotch?**

**Click the review button and let me know...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **

First of all I am sorry that it took me so long to update, but life is not exactly easy for me these days and this has undeniably an effect on my creativity. Anyhow... my muse seems to be back, so here is the next chapter.

Thanks a bunch for the story alerts, for favoring this story and – most of all – for reviewing the last chapter: **HGRHfan35, greengirl82, radioactive460, Mydnyte Houre, Nena Cero, HPforever-after, HouseBroken. **

Somehow I feel the need to explain that I – in no way – support or tolerate self justice. This is fiction and therefore (almost) everything is allowed, but in real life... no way! Having said that, of course, I'm aware that Hotch acts a little OOC in this story, but otherwise he wouldn't be the bad-ass I need him to be. He's a bad-ass with a conscience, though, you'll see... R&R please!

**Disclaimer: **I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

Hotch watches Doyle come out of the diner. Alone. None of his men are around. He stumbles slightly, obviously drunk. Not the thoroughly fit and always vigilant man he used to be who would never be such an easy target without the protection of his army. Now that he killed the woman who destroyed his life – and that's what Ian Doyle still believes, that Lauren Reynolds is dead, that his revenge was successful – there doesn't seem to be much left for him to hold on to.

The alteration of this vicious and dangerous man shouldn't affect Hotch, but in a way it does. He wonders how much he has changed. Whether there is another expression in his eyes these days compared to the time before they knew all about Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds. Whether the recognition and disappointment that the lies had always been there, waiting right underneath the surface to come out and slap them right into the face, shows. They all have changed. A few months ago he would have laughed at anybody who had told him that he would chase another man around the world just to kill him.

He remembers why he is here, draws the gun and points it at Doyle, somehow expecting that the trigger will be pulled by its own will. But of course it isn't.

They are hiding behind some large containers. Nonetheless Doyle will see them sooner or later – drunk or not. He is not blind and he will recognize one of his worst enemies when he sees him. Let alone the gun that is pointed at him.

"Shoot him or watch him escape," Clyde Easter murmurs in Hotch's ear.

He also has drawn his gun and will shoot Doyle if necessary, never had any qualms to do it, albeit he wants to give Hotch the advantage.

When Hotch doesn't react, Clyde gets impatient. There are no witnesses around, they are in the middle of the desert next to a nearly untrafficked road, no car passed by within the last five hours – it is the perfect situation to get it over with and get away. But it won't always be perfect. Other people will leave the diner sooner or later or drive by. They have to act now. It is never a good thing to tempt fate when it gives you exactly what you have been waiting for.

"Don't make such a fuss!" Clyde Easter hisses. "Think of all the cruelties Doyle committed."

Sometimes simple things have unexpected effects. Unconsciously Clyde used just the phrase Hotch had heard Doyle say when he forced himself on Emily. _Don't make such a fuss!_ And suddenly he is not in the desert anymore. He is in the middle of the recording, outside the car, has to hear helplessly what happens inside and has to stop it, needs to stop it, can't think of anything else.

At the end the trigger pulled itself, by its own will. Hotch doesn't remember doing it, although he sees the impact of the bullet. There is not much blood. It's a clean shot. It shouldn't be like that when someone dies. Not so clean and easy, even if it is Ian Doyle.

Doyle looks straight into Hotch's eyes as he falls to the ground. Perhaps he wants to say something, perhaps everything already has been said. Anyway no word leaves his mouth and then his eyes turn blank.

The sun sets. The day is drawing to a close.

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><p><strong>A week from now...<strong>

It's dark this time. The surroundings fulfill the cliché. A hidden alley that somehow matches their usual suits. Only the sunglasses are not needed.

There's no-one else around. Rain is falling down, covering the world in a gray mist.

"Doyle is dead," Mr. Y confirms.

Mr. X nods pleased. "It was a success then," he says, referring to the recording.

They are used to half-truths and manipulation. Reality is what you make of it. Their reality requires Ian Doyle to be dead. It's the result that counts. They don't think about whether the end justifies the means.

Aaron Hotchner will never listen to the complete recording. Then he would hear Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds laughing and agreeing that it was time to drive home to proceed what they had started in the car. Doyle liked his games. He liked to feign a situation in which he seemingly forced himself on Lauren, liked her to play along. The recording, Hotch had been listening to, had been taken when Ian and Lauren already had been lovers. There had been no reason for her to hesitate and be reluctant other than that Doyle liked their foreplay that way. The men deliberately sent him the shortened version that stopped exactly at the point they wanted to. They knew what kind of emotional impact this would have on him. It was necessary to convince Aaron Hotchner that it was justified to kill Ian Doyle.

What Mr. X and Mr. Y will never know is that the part of the game when Emily, or Lauren, seemingly hesitated and tried to hold Doyle back, was the only thing that was real about their relationship. For her it felt as if he forced himself on her every time, no matter whether she had long resigned herself to this situation in which she had to play along. The role play that was meant to turn him on even more was the only moment that allowed her to show her real feelings. And that was what Hotch had heard and recognized. Her raw fear and desperation. Therefore in a way and completely unintentionally the men had given Hotch a manipulated version that was much closer to the truth than any not manipulated version could have been.

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><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

They say that the soul leaves the body when somebody dies, but Hotch is not sure whether this is what happens, whether Ian Doyle had a soul. He is not even sure that he, Aaron Hotchner, still has one.

What he did is so utterly wrong that he can't even begin to describe it. That is what he _knows_ though. What he _feels_ is an entirely different matter. He feels as if he has taken drugs. He never has. Therefore this is the first high in his life. He is flying, in trance. Ian Doyle is dead.

Hotch is aware that each high is followed by a crash, that reality will catch up with him and that he will be miserable soon. Suddenly he feels sick and staggers away from Clyde.

"Don't vomit," Easter warns him and Hotch understands what he means. Vomit is DNA. So he concentrates and swallows the bile he already tastes in his throat and longs to spit out. The high is over. This is reality. He killed a man in cold blood.

Right now he is glad that Clyde Easter is there to take over. He wipes the gun that can't be traced back to them and throws it away, makes sure that they leave no trails. It doesn't take more than two minutes and they are gone. There is no need to bury the body. The desert will take care of it.

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><p>To be continued<p>

**I hope this didn't turn out too dark. And I hope I managed to give bad-ass Hotch enough of a conscience to make his actions plausible.**

**Originally I intended to end the story here, but somehow it didn't feel right, so there will be one more chapter. Well, what could happen next?**

**Review and let me know your suggestions... :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Again I am sorry that it took me so long to update. Blame it on real life... Anyway – here is the last chapter. Just in time before the next season begins. I'm so excited! When I started to write the story, I didn't intend to end it this way. It was planned as a story about Hotch's revenge and Emily wasn't supposed to actually take part. But as it (always) happens when I write a story – things progress differently all of a sudden. So here is what happens when the characters have their way with me. :)

I am sooo happy that the number of reviews for the last chapter went up a little. So let me thank you for taking the time to leave a review: **Black Tulip, greengirl82, Mydnyte Houre, Nena Cero, miaa29, radioactive460, HPforever-after, Rugbygirrl, HGRHfan35. **

**Disclaimer: **I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed.

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><p><strong>Three days from now...<strong>

Clyde Easter and Aaron Hotchner shake hands. It's a friendly gesture, although they are anything but friends. Colleagues in the broadest sense, rivals in a way. And now, after what happened, two men whose fates are intertwined forever because of an event that has to remain their secret.

They are at an airport again – only that on this occasion they will board different planes. This is where they part company and most likely their paths will never cross another time.

"Thank you," Hotch's words are honest. He wouldn't have been able to get through all this without Easter's help.

"You're welcome," Clyde smiles, always the polite gentleman, even if he's the wolf in sheep's clothing. "Take care," he adds with a nod towards the person standing behind Hotch, albeit with a safe distance, giving the two men a moment in private. He might be a wolf in sheep's clothing, but this wolf has a heart.

"I'll see to that," Hotch responds genuinely. He never has been so confident of anything in his whole life.

Easter grabs his bag and walks away. One man among a crowd and soon Hotch loses sight of him.

What really matters, though, is the person standing behind him. Hotch turns around.

* * *

><p><strong>Present day...<strong>

It took Clyde Easter not more than one phone call to find out Emily Prentiss' current undercover alias and address. Another reminder for Aaron Hotchner that he might be an alpha male and the unit chief of the BAU, but that his options in this special situation are fairly limited. Probably Garcia would also have been able to trace Prentiss' whereabouts. It would have taken more time though and most likely wouldn't have gone unnoticed, bearing the risk that Emily would have gotten wind of it and left. It's a different world Easter lives in and Hotch has accepted that Clyde is the master of undercover operations and mysteries as well as he is the master of solving crimes and profiling. Even if he has to admit that he utterly failed to profile Emily Prentiss right. The one member of his team who lives in both worlds. He should have read between the lines, should have realized that there had been more to the sudden change in her behavior than mood swings, that her past had been catching up with her so fast that the only way out had been the one way that had led her away from her team, in isolation and – eventually – into hiding. But he had been so used to rely on her that the idea something like that could happen or that she couldn't be there anymore never occurred to him. Even profilers are human and make mistakes.

They are somewhere in Europe. It doesn't matter where they are; they won't stay long anyway. She doesn't know that they are here. They could have called and announced their arrival, but Easter recommended not to do that. Perhaps she would have believed them that it's over. On the other hand there was the residual risk that she would have disappeared for good. Clyde doesn't speak his mind aloud, going into hiding on your own, though, changes some people more than others. Some people become so suspicious of everything that they drop off the radar completely, don't trust anybody anymore.

The road is busy. There is a weekly market nearby. They originally intended to go to her apartment and avoid the public. But when Easter received a call shortly before they arrived that she had left her apartment, they changed their plans. Obviously Clyde had made sure that Prentiss is under surveillance until they meet her when he had found out her whereabouts.

Hotch feels his pulse speed up. He is anxious and eager to see her at the same time and he can't even imagine how it will be for her, because unlike him she didn't have time to prepare in the least.

It's a classical trap. Easter goes ahead and Hotch falls back so that she is somewhere between them, somewhere among the crowd. Clyde detects her first. She doesn't look much different. Her hair is a little shorter with a tinge of red and she has lost some weight, but it's her deliberately altered posture that really does the trick and prevents Hotch from recognizing her at first sight. At a second glance he recognizes her, though, and for the split of a second his stomach cramps when the memories of listening to the recording and killing Doyle flood through him. He has to remind himself that this is not the time to be distracted by the unsolved emotional turmoil that defines their relationship.

He watches her slide through the crowd with a seeming effortlessness and then... freeze. Easter has approached her, intentionally blown his cover, and blocks her way now. He says something to her Hotch isn't able to hear because of the variety of sounds around him. However when Clyde puts out his hand to touch Emily, she recoils and attempts an escape. Perhaps Easter was right and she has become so distrustful that she can't even trust someone she knows, someone who would never approach her in the open if it meant any harm for her or innocent bystanders. Prentiss is a trained agent and therefore avoids the classical escape any amateur would choose by instinct. So she doesn't just turn around and run. Instead she makes a move at one side and since they chose the place to confront her on purpose, there is a block of houses to her right so that the only escape route is to go left. What she does and what causes her to almost bump into her former superior. Hotch couldn't see her face when she saw Clyde Easter. He is pretty sure, though, that the surprise and shock he could have witnessed moments ago was nothing compared to what he sees now.

This time it's her who puts out her hand and touches his chest reluctantly as if he is an apparition and will disappear again any moment. Her eyes jump back and forth, scanning the crowd for possible threats, while she tries to understand what it means that he is here. Then she rivets on her hand that is still on his chest and she pulls it back, suddenly reminded of their old roles as superior and agent and aware that such an almost intimate gesture isn't appropriate. All the more she is surprised when he holds her hand in place and covers it with his own.

"It's over, Emily," Hotch says and notices the flicker of emotion in her eyes when he says her name, her real name, not one of the many aliases she had to use during the last months. "He's dead. Doyle's dead."

This time Prentiss pulls back her hand so fast that he releases it, as if she burned herself. She takes a step back and he realizes that she is afraid to believe it, can't imagine what it must mean to her to finally hear these words after all this time. _It's over. _

"How can you be sure," she asks hesitantly and Hotch can tell by the way her body is tensed up that she still is ready to run, uncertain whether the threat really is gone, uncertain whether she got him right, apprehending that he will say something any moment that will destroy what little hope she allows herself to feel.

Clyde has reached them by now and heard her question.

"I saw Doyle die and we both saw his dead body," he answers it. No lie, but neither the truth. Hotch never told Easter why he changed his mind, why he eventually decided that killing Doyle was a necessary task. And frankly Clyde doesn't care. He knows, though, that Hotch still is a man of principles, even if he broke his own rules, that he didn't pull the trigger easily. He witnessed Hotch's emotional struggle with his own eyes and respects him even more. So this is his farewell gift. Prentiss doesn't have to know, if Hotch doesn't want her to. And Hotch doesn't have to decide want he wants her to know right now.

Emily's posture relaxes visibly. She allows herself to believe it. If Hotch saw the dead body, it's true and it's really over. Ian Doyle is dead. Then a devastating thought crosses her mind.

"What about his men?" she asks. "Won't they take revenge?"

"No," Hotch assures her. "Doyle has no minions anymore. His empire fell apart."

Emily closes her eyes briefly, her limbs slackening when she eventually internalizes what they told her. Hotch is about to grab her shoulders to steady her when Clyde puts his arm around her. This time she doesn't recoil and Hotch envies how Clyde is able to touch her casually, their laid-back physical closeness obviously a remainder of their time together. Then Hotch reminds himself that this is something he doesn't have with any of his team members because that's just not the way he is.

When Emily opens her eyes again, there is the slightest smile on her face. "You have a three-day stubble," she states.

Hotch didn't see the need to shave. His regular rituals have somehow become dispensable in a world that consists of threats and breaking rules. For a man like him who is so disciplined and controlled, this is a major change though and Prentiss knows him well enough to realize that.

"Are you ok?" she asks sympathetically and Clyde gives her a short hug and then pulls back his arm that he put around her. His job is done. She has overcome the surprise and shock. She will neither faint nor run away and – most important of all – she believes them, hasn't turned into a paranoid version of herself that can't trust anybody ever again. He found her and now it's Hotch's turn to bring her home.

Hotch almost has to laugh. Prentiss almost died and had to go into hiding alone and still _she_ asks whether _he_ is ok. Perhaps he didn't profile her wrong at all. Perhaps he knows her inside out as he thought he did before all this happened. To ask something like this is just so like the woman he knew.

"I'm fine," he says. And then, as if he has to clarify something, he adds after a brief pause, "_Now_, I'm fine."

He doesn't know whether she caught the emphasis that _now_ he is fine and – in case she did – whether she took it in the way he meant it. Most likely not. How could she? But now that he is here with her, everything is all right. For more than one reason. There is no more threat to her or the team. And even if he always knew that he wanted her back on the team whenever there would be the chance, he never realized how much it actually matters to him to be near her, to be able to reach out and touch her, to make sure that they both are fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Three days from now...<strong>

They watch Clyde Easter disappear among the crowd. Emily had a moment alone with him to say goodbye before Hotch did. There had been times when she had been suspicious of him, but he proved her wrong and she is thankful for that.

What they don't know is that at the same time Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss are waiting at the airport to board their plane, in another country two men in a dark alley declare their mission closed. Mr. X and Mr. Y did their job, are satisfied with the result and won't have to meet again. Ian Doyle is dead and that's all that counts. That Clyde Easter and Aaron Hotchner managed to find Emily Prentiss was an irrelevant sideshow.

Eventually there is the loudspeaker announcement that their plane is about to take off. Just before they board, Hotch calls JJ. Of course he called her before. She was the only one he contacted while he was absent, even if he didn't tell her anything, just let her know in between that he was all right and that there was no need to worry. And of course she suspected that his absence had something to do with Doyle or Emily, but she never asked. By now she knows, and that's _all_ she knows, that Doyle is dead and that Prentiss is coming back. It was her task to inform the team.

So there's no actual need for calling JJ again. Yet Hotch wants to confirm what they are doing, as if reality could slip away otherwise, even if it is redundant, even if he states the obvious.

"The plane will depart on schedule," he tells her when JJ picks up the phone.

This is not what he really wants to say, but he needed a reason to call. And then he tells her what's really on his mind, what his call really is about. His gaze rests on Emily who stands in the line with him, holding her ticket and her passport.

"We're coming home," Hotch says.

* * *

><p><strong>Sometime in the future...<strong>

They are still adjusting. Some team members took the news that Emily Prentiss is not dead, well let's say, _more positive_ than others, but they are all, of course, glad that she's alive and that she's back.

It's silent on the jet. It was a gruesome case and Hotch doesn't seem to be the only one who appreciates the comfortable calm. Morgan listens to the music, JJ and Reid have fallen asleep and Emily and Rossi talk quietly.

Hotch's thoughts drift. Prentiss doesn't know about the recording and he intends to leave it that way. She also doesn't know that he was the one who killed Doyle. He is not sure whether he will tell her one day. Perhaps he will, even if it will be difficult to explain his motives without telling her about the recording. He closes his eyes, listening to Emily's voice in the background. He can't make out the single words, but her tone of voice soothes him.

He went through hell listening to the recording and killing a man contrary to his belief. Hotch is neither proud of what he did nor does he want to share the burden. He can't deny, though, that what happened, changed him. As the saying goes – on a journey of revenge, dig two graves. Hotch wouldn't go so far as to say that his old self lies dead and buried in the desert next to Doyle's body. But although the man he is these days might not be that different on the surface from the man he was before, inside he has experienced that in a world where you are constantly confronted with evil, sometimes the lines blur. He isn't looking for a justification, let alone absolution; he just collects the facts, aware that he has to deal with them for the rest of his life.

Then again maybe the hard times eventually have brought forth something good at least. Without them Hotch wouldn't have been forced to come to terms with himself and his feelings. He knows that Emily has noticed the slight changes in his behavior towards her – subtle changes, but changes nonetheless. He also knows that she is uncertain what to do with that. And there are days Hotch feels the same.

There is a hesitant touch, a warm hand prodding him gently and when he opens his eyes Emily stands beside him. "I miss your stubble," she says and smiles.

Perhaps he just has to take it one step at a time.

* * *

><p>The end<p>

**Phew! So what do you think? Appropriate ending? **

**I wanted to lift the mood a little bit and I hope it's not sappy, because that wasn't the intention and wouldn't suit the story.**

**Thank you so much for reading and please leave a review. Otherwise I'll never know if you liked it or not! :)**


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